


The F- Word

by MrBalkanophile



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1478611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrBalkanophile/pseuds/MrBalkanophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Cristiano – not just his skin, nor his tongue – feels like liquid warmth under his fingers, and Wayne's diving into his clasp, and his warmth is nice and sating like the spices stand at the market. He's almost alcoholic, and maybe he really is.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The F- Word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KarneolVision](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarneolVision/gifts).



> Consider it set around 2004. Or whenever you'd like to.  
> Just a ficlet for Jo, for the amazing artist and the wonderful person she is. <3

"I don't know what I should do," he says to himself.

Wayne's walking in circles around him, not even trying anymore to hide from his eyes (he isn't even looking in his direction, anyway: too busy signing on people's shirts, glasses, placemats and _arms_ ), or denying it to himself, for that matter. He has never been the cautious type, he never would, and still, he's not even sure what he's doing; he feels like he's doing something terribly wrong, that should be postponed indefinitely. Wayne's just looking. He's looking at _him_.

A glimpse, a smile. _Gotcha_. "Heeey." Wayne pretends he hasn't seen him yet, and Cristiano shouts his "Wayne!", so loud and gleeful he makes half the people around to turn to him for a moment. "Come here, I'm all alone!"

"Um." People are packed around him, so Wayne can't help but think he's blatantly lying. (Alternative is, he doesn't care about strangers and people asking him for an autograph or a gift, and he just cares about _him_. Uh. Too good to be true.) "Well, Cris. Hi. Can I…?"

"Sure you don't have to ask." As Wayne finally sits next to him, the bartender has already brought him a full glass and refill for Cristiano. "I didn't know you hang out at this place."

"I don't." Cristiano looks deep into his eyes for a moment, and Wayne has to turn away from his gaze as fast as possible. "Do you?"

Cristiano tilts his head for a moment, then he starts laughing because his head is heavy and his movements silly – definitely drank too much, Wayny, it's so cheerful here! – and Wayne, unexpectedly enough, feels warm and tipsy even if his one and only tumbler is still almost full, shining its strong red aura around.

"Want a ride home?" he asks, earnestly, and Cristiano nods and laughs again.

*

Cristiano – not just his skin, nor his tongue – feels like liquid warmth under his fingers, and Wayne's diving into his clasp, and his warmth is nice and sating like the spices stand at the market. He's almost alcoholic, and maybe he really is. Wayne feels weird to caress Cristiano's tongue with his one, to feel his skin against his own hands, and the sense of inner wrongness doesn't go out for how hard their kisses could get far; but Cristiano looks embarrassed as well, even if it seems he's more natural in kissing another man, and, somehow, this thought makes him feel relieved.

"I guess… uh, this counts as a _good-night-_ f-farewell," Cristiano murmurs, his breath short, his bare chest moving up and down with each and every pant. It's so difficult to make a kiss sound like a farewell, Wayne thinks, but he doesn't answer. He feels already sick enough, disliking this almost as much as he likes it. Then Cristiano's hand grips on his crotch as fast as Wayne's ones squeezes Cristiano's ass, and they both laugh, awkwardly, and the f- word blanks out from their mind.

"I don't know what I'm even doing." Wayne says, his fingers trembling as they slide under the denim of Cristiano's trousers.

"I do," is Cristiano's answer, but Wayne can't tell how serious he is. His scorched heart's melting.

*

"Wayny."

" _Wayny_ is terrible," Wayne grunts; Cristiano giggles, and then he whines about the hangover, and then he giggles again. Wayne's got his back turned on him, though, and he doesn't want to face Cristiano, not even when he gleefully squeezes him from behind, as naked as he is, and Wayne almost jumps out of the bed because _hey I'm not even ready to… think, about this, just no_. Cristiano calms him down, and puts his face between Wayne's shoulder and neck, and the hand on his waving chest.

"I'm not going to regret it."

"I don't know what I just did," he retorts, trying not to blush like the idiot he actually is.

"Bet you do," Cristiano remarks, licking his ear, enjoying his trembling curses. "And you're even quite good at it."

Wayne doesn't say a thing. When Cristiano puts one hand between his legs, once again, he closes his eyes with a sigh, and gropes his way forward to give him the same pleasure.

*

 _Tu m'as mise K.O d'entrée_  
 _Il faut croire que j'ai bien aimé_  
 _Liens de cuir et mains de soie_  
 _Qui blesses-tu et dans quel port_  
 _Jusqu'à faire rougir l'aurore?_  
 _Tu m'as jeté comme un sort_  
( _L'enfer et moi_ , Amandine Bourgeois)


End file.
